


Night Terrors

by iselsis



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Smol Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: It was just a dream. Bruce isn'treallydead....but maybe Jason should check, just in case.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 26
Kudos: 492





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on like three long fic chapters at one, but I ran out of writing fuel/comments, so I finished off this half-finished work to fill the tank.
> 
> E, I'm also working on your Titans Tower thing.

There was a sickening snap of bone and a wet tearing of flesh as Bruce’s chest caved in. Jason screamed and tried to rush to his side, but invisible hands held him in place. He could do nothing but thrash and sob as Bruce’s horrible breaths rattled and gurgled from his throat, one after another.

And then there was stillness, and the hands melted away.

Jason’s scream was cut off by a the impact of his body hitting the floor.

Jason gasped and thrashed against the bonds still holding his legs, but he only succeeded in getting himself more tangled. He lunged for his legs, intent on tearing off whatever tendrils were wrapped around him, only for his fingers to sink deep into thick fabric.

It took several moments for the sensory detail to process through the haze of fear and paranoia enough for him to realize that it was his comforter that he was trying to strangle, and he’d fallen out of bed. It had all been a dream.

Jason quickly freed his legs, then shoved the blankets back onto the bed with trembling hands and shaky breaths. A dream, a dream, a _dream._ Bruce hadn’t been murdered horribly in front of his eyes, he wasn’t going to have to go back to the streets, and no one was going to hurt him. Bruce was asleep in his own bed, somehow managing to have slept through the noise of Jason having thrown himself off the bed while half-screaming. In fact, he was probably going to come in any second and get mad at Jason for waking him up.

Jason took another deep breath and tightened his fists. No, Bruce wasn’t going to be mad, he was going to be _sappy_ as hell, because the man was a freak and the only reason he wasn’t called Chickenman for being such a stupid mother hen was because he was a liar and in charge of his own branding.

Even though it normally rankled him to have Bruce breathing down his neck and trying to assess his emotional state every five seconds, the knowledge that Bruce cared and would be arriving any second calmed the wild racing of his heart just a bit.

Jason sat back down on his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest while he waited for Bruce to come check on him.

Any second.

He was probably just about to open the door.

In just a moment…

A few seconds became a minute, which became two, which became three, and Bruce hadn’t shown up. Every second that he was late felt like an eternity, and any calm that Jason had managed was promptly tossed out the window, because Bruce _should_ have heard that; he was right across the hall, and it wasn’t like Jason had been quiet, or, at least, he didn’t think that he had been. Bruce was home, too, because Alfie had threatened to shoot him if he didn’t rest his sprained wrist for at least a couple of days, so if Bruce _hadn't_ heard him, then something had to be extremely wrong.

Jason hugged his knees tighter and bit his cheek to keep from crying. Nothing could hurt Bruce, because Bruce was _Batman_. That meant…he didn’t care enough to check on Jason.

Except no, because Jason had thought that, and then Bruce came home with a sprained wrist, so clearly he _could_ be hurt. Did that mean he could be killed? What if he’d just been murdered, and that nightmare Jason had seen was a psychic projection of the event from whatever hellbeast had managed to off Batman?

That was absurd, wasn’t it?

_Wasn’t it?_

But if aliens who wore their underwear on the outside could be superheroes, then anything could happen.

Jason jumped to his feet and raced for the door, not realizing until he was out in the hall that anything that could kill Bruce would be able to use him as a toothpick. He balled his fists in determination and hurried to Bruce’s door. Maybe he could get Bruce medical attention if he hurried fast enough, and he wouldn’t have to lose another parent.

Jason hesitated when his fingers brushed the doorknob, the cold metal igniting the tattered remnants of his common sense. _No,_ of course Bruce wasn’t dead. He was probably just too tired to deal with his feral alley rat charity case’s panic attack, because why _would_ Bruce actually come comfort him? Sure, he hovered over Jason during the day, but that wasn’t the same thing as getting up out of bed while you’re tired and injured to go prove that you weren’t dead to a stupid kid who should have been able to figure it out. Bruce was probably going to be mad at him if he woke him up, so he should just go back to his room and try to sleep.

The thought of closing his eyes and going back to sleep made his stomach flop violently. What if he saw _it_ again? Bruce’s broken body, too far away for him to help, but close enough that Jason couldn’t miss a thing.

It wasn’t like Bruce would _know_ or anything, if Jason just cracked the door open a bit and looked inside. Jason had always been pretty sneaky, and Robin training had made him even better. He didn’t need much; he just wanted to see the rise and fall of blankets, and then he’d be able to go back to bed without having to worry. He just had to make _sure_ everything was alright.

Carefully, slowly, Jason turned the doorknob and pushed it quietly. The door swung on near-silent hinges, and Jason pressed his cheek against the doorframe so he could look inside with one eye.

A thin sliver of moonlight from a gap between the curtains illuminated the room just enough for Jason to make out the large shadowy lump that was Bruce’s stupidly huge body.

Jason watched very, very closely as the blankets moved just slightly up and down in a regular rhythm.

Except—

One of his mom’s friends had died when Jason was six. They had gone to the funeral together, and the entire time, Jason was _sure_ he could see the lady breathing, but it was just an illusion. That girl had been dead, and _Bruce_ could also be dead without Jason able to tell from all the way by the door.

A second wave of trepidation hit him as he nudged the door open just slightly.

Bruce wouldn’t…things didn’t end well for kids in rich men’s bedrooms, but Bruce was supposed to be his _dad,_ right? He wouldn’t…do stuff. Besides, he was Batman.

If Bruce _was_ dead, and Jason hadn't even _tried_ to save him…he’d lose his new kind of dad, and there was no way Alfred or Dick would ever forgive him. He wasn’t sure who’d get the house, but they’d kick him back onto the streets for sure, and he’d deserve it too.

Jason took a deep breath to steel himself, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He was halfway across the room when Bruce abruptly sat up. “Who’s there?”

Jason inhaled sharply and froze, body and mind.

Luckily, Bruce seemed to wake up. He pushed back the covers and swung his legs off the bed. Jason’s throat tightened as Bruce’s hulking outline surged toward him, but then Jason hands—he hadn't realized they were shaking and so cold until Bruce took them—were enveloped in Bruce’s giant, warm hands, and Jason could barely make out Bruce’s frown, both of which meant he was really, definitely alive.

“Jason, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked. “Are you hurt? Are you sick?”

Jason opened his mouth, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t sound stupid, suddenly panicking because Robin was supposed to be smart and brave, and Jason was neither of those things at _all_ , and Bruce was going to find out, and then he wouldn’t want Jason, and he’d send him _back_ out on the streets, or to foster care—

Instead of coming up with a logical explanation, Jason burst into tears.

He flinched, waiting for the blow, but it didn’t come. Bruce made an upset noise, then pulled Jason against his chest and wrapped Jason up in a hug so tight that Jason could feel the steady beat of Bruce’s heart. Bruce was alive, and he…wasn’t mad? But Jason had woken him up! His dad—his _first_ dad—would have at least _smacked_ Jason for that.

“It’s alright, Jason, it was just a dream,” Bruce promised, because apparently Jason was so obvious that Bruce could just _tell_ how stupid he was, but Bruce still wasn’t mad for some reason.

Maybe Bruce was too tired to be mad. Or maybe he was going to punish Jason later, but whatever the reason was, Jason melted against Bruce and threw his arms around Bruce’s neck.

Bruce swept Jason off his feet and cradled him like a baby against his chest, then carried him to the door.

Jason slumped and laid his head on Bruce’s shoulder, trying to physically absorb all the _Bruce_ ness that he could before Bruce put him back in his own bed and went back to sleep.

But Bruce didn’t turn toward Jason’s room.

He carried Jason to the stairs.

And then down to the main floor.

He wasn’t—

He was going to throw Jason out the front door?! In his _pajamas_? He didn’t even have any shoes! Bruce should at least let Jason get his clothes he brought, and the picture of his mom! Those were his, and Bruce couldn’t take them from him, except that he _could,_ and he was _going to_.

Jason whimpered and squeezed tighter as Bruce crossed the foyer, but Bruce just rubbed his back, and then they passed by the front door entirely.

Bruce carried Jason to the main living room and sat down on the couch. He grabbed one of the small blankets Alfred stashed everywhere and slung it around Jason, swaddling him like a baby.

“What—” Jason whispered, scared that even speaking would be enough to break the delicate balance of Bruce’s temper.

“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?” Bruce asked.

It was too late to pretend he hadn't, so Jason nodded.

Bruce nodded too, because he’d known that. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jason shook his head fervently and blinked back tears. He didn’t want to think of that ever again.

Bruce nodded, like he’d known that too. “A movie will get your mind off things. What do you want to watch?”

Jason just stared at him. Bruce was…he was clearly awake, but he wasn’t flying off his rocker at Jason, or even _irritated_. It didn’t make any sense.

But…nothing Bruce did made sense, ever. That was why he was Batman. Maybe Bruce was just…special. Good in a way his first dad had never been.

“I—anything is—” Jason mumbled.

Bruce chuckled and gave Jason’s shoulder a small squeeze. “Understood. How about Paddington? Dick always loved Paddington.”

Jason nodded his agreement. He wasn’t sure that it mattered, but maybe he was supposed to. He just watched in awe as Bruce picked up the remote and fussed around with the TV until British narration started playing through the speakers. Jason barely processed what they were saying.

Bruce leaned back, propping his feet on the coffee table like Alfred hated and still clutching Jason so tightly against his warm, living body, like he wanted to make sure that Jason would never ever be able to get away. It was…

Jason closed his eyes and let the quiet rhythm of Bruce’s breathing and the background noise of the television lull him back to sleep.


End file.
